Beamed

Chapter 1

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"What. The. Fuck."

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“What. The. Fuck.”

You look upon the little village you came across and sneak over to a nearby bush, looking at the multi-colored equines doing human things like shopping and chatting… Wait, chatting!? You look more closely at their mouths, trying to read their lips you get some of what they are saying. “We should --- market later-” A brown one with a weird butt tattoo of an hourglass says, chatting with another horse with a coat of grey and.. Bubbles… As a butt tattoo.

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I’m not going to judge what a horse gets tattooed on their ass.

You see that those tattoos are a common thing here, in this parallel world, thing.. Universe? Whatever. Back on topic, talking horses… Did that beam of light do something to take you here or are you in a coma in a hospital? You decide whether or not to go engage these things, thinking for a while sitting in the bush like a pedofile you make up your mind to leave them for now… Well, until you have something to protect yourself if they decide to capture you and dissect you for SCIENCE!

Hah, making jokes about your probable and very likely dissection is fun… and jarring.

You get out of the bushes and walk back to the forest, food and shelter is really your priority right now, getting out of the rain that is most likely to come and some grub in your stomach would be great. But what is safe to eat out here? You could kill a rabbit or squirrel, you’ve been hunting before, but you have nothing to shoot them with… You also could make a makeshift fishing rod, your dad taught you how to make one when you went camping with him last time… You’re probably never going to see him again, or any of your family..

This finally setting in you put your back against a tree and slide down it, how you’re never going to see your family again settles in your mind. Your breath wavers and your hands shake. You are never going to see them again.. Never going to be able to hug your mother or your father, you’re not going to see your annoying little sister…

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You try to force these thoughts out of your mind and stand up still shaking quite a bit. You head for a tiny pond you saw on your way here and grab a loose branch about the size of a normal fishing pole and a rock that’s sharp enough for making the thin bit. You start carving, taking the rock and making the tip of the branch thinner. Instead of a fishing rod, you decide to make a spear so you can just stab the fish. When you’re done you gaze into the water and see a few salmon, you test the spear by impaling a fish onto it and pulling it out and putting it on the ground beside you. You grab some nice looking rocks and put them into a circle formation, piling up some dead grass, dead leaves, and twigs in the center of the rocks; you grab your lighter out of your pocket from your bad smoking habit, looks like you're finally stopping smoking anyway.

You light a piece of bark and put it under the dead things, making a little hole for oxygen to get though. The fire starts and you start putting bark on as it gets bigger, after a while it’s big enough for cooking. You find a nice thin and wide rock to cook the fish on, now you just have to gut them. You use the sharp rock from earlier to remove all the guts and organs, leaving only the meat and you put it onto the thin rock and balance it on top of the little teepee you made out of bark. Then, you wait.

An hour later you take the meat off and you dig in, not caring that it is burning your tounge, you’re hungry and a little burning is not going to stop you. It is a bit charred around the edges but still has a good taste to it. After your meal you put out the fire and start walking, looking at the beautiful scenery of the small rounded pond. Fish jump out and in the water around the lily pads making little ripples in the water. Knowing that salmon you ate was a freshwater fish, you take a sip of the water. You relax awhile and pull out you lighter, a zippo. Your dad gave this to you when you turned nineteen, you trace your thumb over the engraving in the side.

To my son, Toby Matison.

From your father, George Matison

You sigh sadly letting your tears drop onto your dirt stained shirt as you look over the times you had with your dad, all the baseball games when you were a kid, father's days, when he taught you how to drive a stick…

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You miss him alot, if you ever get home, you and him are going out drinking from 9:00PM to damn One o'clock in the morning!

You keep thinking of your family for the next hour, sitting by the pond looking at the fish swimming around. You miss your dad.. Even your annoying little sister.

You miss them a lot...